Morbidity of the Soul
by Israfel
Summary: AU. Ever wonder what would have happened if another Slayer had been called instead of Buffy?


Title: Morbidity of the Soul  
  
Author: Israfel  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: AU. Ever wonder what would have happened if another Slayer had been called instead of Buffy?  
  
Author's Notes: You ever have an idea in your head that just won't go away? It's like a drill in the back of your head, but you just can't write it down. The idea for this story came from a conversation a friend and I had on how badly we could screw up the Buffy universe. I demand a hundred reviews! *Looks around meekly* How about one? Is one okay?  
  
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The camera flashes blinded him for a moment. If only he could get the photographers away for a moment then maybe he could actually get some work done. But they had been at his side for months now - ever since the first victim had been found in the sewers.  
  
It had been the third killing like this that week, making it the eleventh case that they had found in the whole of L.A. that year. Detective Joseph Ramirez had been assigned after the fourth body had been connected in the string of brutal killings. A few onlookers almost knocked him over as he made his way past the yellow tape to the body. Giving a tired wave to his friend Jacob Ericsson, the coroner, he walked past him to Lieutenant Dagon.  
  
"What do we have so far?"  
  
"It's another one, Joe."  
  
Ramirez rolled his eyes. "Of course it's another one. We both know they wouldn't have bothered to call me down if it weren't. Where's the mark?"  
  
"Neck. Two small puncture marks. If I didn't know better I'd say he stabbed her with a barbeque fork." He tossed a look to the body of the young woman already outlined in chalk on the cement. "Not that a small thing like her would make much of a meal."  
  
"God, Dagon, you're such a dick sometimes," a voice called out. Dagon turned around and barked for whoever it was who had an opinion to either come up and share or shut the fuck up.  
  
"Three vampire killings this week alone." Ramirez scowled. "God, what kind of sick fuck does these things?"  
  
"Three vampire related killings in this week alone," Dagon repeated as he shook his head. "He's not going to stop, is he?"  
  
"No," Ramirez replied, "he isn't."  
  
"What I don't get is why someone would want to risk hanging around the scene to mutilate the body after they've killed it," the lieutenant pondered.  
  
"They didn't. It's nearly impossible to remove blood post-mortem. Without the heart pumping oxygenated and deoxygenated blood throughout, what's left will pool towards the bottom of the body forming a large bruise. My guess is that there will be no bruise, meaning that she was bled before she died."  
  
"What makes you think that happened with her? They haven't even gotten the girl to the lab yet, let alone done an autopsy on her yet."  
  
"Because that's what happened to all the others we've found."  
  
"Goddamn, it's one of those vampire cult killings again. Do you remember a few years back when those started up?"  
  
Ramirez reached outwards and gestured to the air around the girl's neck as he knelt and spoke, taking great care not to disrupt the scene even by accident. He didn't look at the face of the girl. He never looked at their faces. "Look around here - the blood has been drained right out of here through this artery alone. What I don't get is how is that possible? There's no way that much blood could disappear through such a small opening."  
  
"Do you know much about vampires?"  
  
Ramirez jumped at the sound of the voice, a sharp pain hitting his neck as his head whipped around to find it's source. Jacob Ericsson. In his white coat, one could argue that he resembled the fictional character Dr. Frankenstein in both manner and appearance. Despite their professional friendship, it was plain to say the coroner gave off an impression that could be described as discerning by some. He called it just plain creepy.  
  
"I was never one to watch horror movies as a kid. I always though that sort of thing was pointless to watch, especially when so many horrors were committed right under our noses every day in the real world. But the whole blood-sucking thing was common knowledge."  
  
"That's how it could be done. Of course," Ericsson added, "vampires don't exist, now do they? Of course they don't. Now, let's get down to business."  
  
"What did you find, doctor?"  
  
"We managed to get a two sets of fingerprints off a necklace that appears to have been broken during the struggle, possibly ripped off. One set is hers, the others isn't."  
  
"So we have positive ID on the killer?"  
  
"You know it isn't that simple. We sent it to the forensics lab and they're checking it against any of the prints we have on file. All we need now is time."  
  
"Time is the one thing we cannot afford to give."  
  
"Well, look at it this way: at least we didn't send it to the FBI crime lab. For such a high profile organization, they manage to botch up quite a good bit of evidence, do they not?"  
  
"Do we at least have a positive ID on the victim?"  
  
"Indeed. A student ID from Hemery High was found on her person-Hey!"  
  
Ramirez snatched the small plastic card away despite protests from the other man, looking at the photograph of the girl who now lay on the cement staring lifelessly at the stars. Blonde, pretty, probably a cheerleader. She looked as though she could take on the entire world with a smile on her face and still come out smelling roses; the type of girl who wouldn't have even given him the time of day in high school. He hated people like that. Tucking the card into his jacket pocket, he gave a quick nod to Ericsson.  
  
"Much obliged. I'll keep a hold of this until the photos of the crime scene are developed. I think we may have stumbled upon a rather interesting pattern here. I'm heading back to the station to check out my theory. Stop on by when you get back, I have something I want to discuss with you."  
  
"I'll try," he replied. "Go on ahead. No, wait, I can't. But if you stop by the lab, I'll make some time."  
  
"Alright," he said, walking off with a wave. That was when an unusual image caught his eye. The fact that a teenage girl was there was odd enough. The fact that she was standing within the cautionary tape was something else entirely.  
  
"Hey!" he called out. "Get out of this area! You're not allowed here!"  
  
"Ramirez, it's okay! We let her."  
  
"Officer Jenson, I might be inclined to wonder what a kid doing is here?"  
  
"She was the one who called in the homicide. The poor thing has been here half the night," she replied, tossing a look over her shoulder.  
  
"Hasn't anyone taken her statement yet?" he snapped.  
  
"Quit with the attitude, Joseph. I don't put up with that kind of shit from you normally, and I'm not going to put up with it today. We took her statement hours ago, but she refused to leave. Since she wasn't in the way we saw no problem with it. Is that good enough for you?"  
  
"Since we can't erase the past, I suppose it will have to."  
  
"Joy," was her sarcastic answer.  
  
Ramirez turned to the girl. "C'mon, kid, I'll give you a ride home."  
  
The girl clutched her bag to her chest and firmly shook her head. "No, that's okay. I'll just take the bus home or something."  
  
He narrowed his eyes as he drew close to the girl's face. "Look, I can't leave you just standing around here. This is a crime scene and you aren't allowed to be here while we're conducting an investigation. Got it?"  
  
"Okay," she said quietly.  
  
She dug her hands into the pockets of her navy blue jacket, staring at the cement all the while as the two walked in silence to his car. Looking over his shoulder at the teenager lagging behind, he frowned. She was being difficult. He hated kids.  
  
"You shouldn't wear dark colors at night. It is a lot easier for drivers to see you in bright colors."  
  
"And we all see how well bright colors worked for her," she muttered bitterly, looking over her shoulder at the corpse which was now blocked from view by officers.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"Nothing." She walked over to the other side of the car, waiting for him to unlock the doors.  
  
"It's open."  
  
"Oh." She climbed in, buckled her seatbelt, and stared straight ahead. As he started the car and pulled out onto the street she cringed. He needed a new muffler.  
  
"Why did you decide to stay?"  
  
She shrugged as she looked out the window, watching the people and buildings on the street zoom by through a mixture of the speed of the car and the tears building up in her eyes. If she squinted her eyes the two seemed to merge together into a twisted mass.  
  
"I just felt that I had to stay there. I mean, we weren't close friends or anything by a long shot, but I kind of knew her. I.I didn't want her to be alone. No one should be alone."  
  
Although a short distance from her high school, the change in scenery between the city and her home in the suburbs was as drastic as could be. The suburban flight always resulted in a sort of safety net for paranoid parents. Nothing really bad could ever happen in the suburbs, right? Both inhabitants in the car knew that assessment was dead wrong.  
  
"Look, your sneakers can't possibly be that enthralling."  
  
That should have gotten a small smile out of her, the most he could probably expect out of her considering the circumstances. But there was nothing. It seemed that the more he spoke the more she just tried to curl up into herself.  
  
"So what's your name, kid?"  
  
She didn't speak for a moment, as though considering whether or not she should give him her real name or not. It wasn't going to be like he would know the difference. "Lilith," she finally said. "My name is Lilith."  
  
"Lilith, eh?" he questioned. "Is that from the bible, or was she just a really big fan of Cheers?"  
  
"Sharp fellow." She nodded, finally looking away from the window. "Yeah, my mom was heavy into religion. Still is."  
  
He snuck her a quick look before he stepped on the gas. "And are you?"  
  
"Me?" she asked, barking out a harsh laugh. "God, no! You?"  
  
He nodded, checking his rearview mirror. A nervous habit he had picked up from God only knows where. Probably left over from his rookie days. "A little bit. I go every so often when I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt."  
  
"Must be nice." she mused, turning her head away again to look out the window. Suddenly her head jerked back around to focus on the beaded rosary hanging from his rearview mirror. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the sight of it, forgetting the detective's presence in that moment.  
  
"I can guarantee you it's more habit these days than anything else."  
  
The teenager jumped slightly in her seat, startled out of her reverie by his voice. Casting a quick glance in his direction, she frowned. "It's wrong."  
  
He tossed her a puzzled look. "What?"  
  
"The cross," she explained slowly. "It's wrong."  
  
He shifted his gaze towards the cross for a second. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it; it was the same type of cross he had seen most places during his life. "No. It's not. Look closer."  
  
"It's wrong," she insisted. "During that time period only high level prisoners were crucified on crosses shaped like that." A pause. "Turn right here."  
  
He flipped his blinker on and moved into the turn lane. "Oh? And what exactly do you call Jesus?"  
  
"He was crucified between two thieves. Neither of those were exactly high level criminals. According to the station he was crucified under, what should be shown is Jesus nailed on a capital T type crucifix." A pause. "His back would also be arched in order for him to hold himself up."  
  
She shrugged. "Of course, it doesn't really matter these days. It's not about the actual historical signifigance behind it, but the meaning we as humans put into it. It's all about the dogma."  
  
Ramirez uttered a noncommittal noise. Then: "Which one's your house?"  
  
"7200. Just pull up on the side."  
  
He set the car in park and turned his body slightly to face her. After staring at her for a few moments, he shook his head as though he couldn't comprehend her presence. "You're an weird kid, you know that?"  
  
Brushing the loose strands of hair out of her face, she opened the car door and stepped out. Turning back around, she gave him a look followed by a strange sort of smile. "Tell me about it."  
  
He would never admit it to anyone, but in that moment there was something about her that frightened him. Keeping his eyes on her while she walked up to her door, he waited until she stepped inside her house and was safe. Before she did, though, she turned around to give him another curious look. And then the door shut behind her.  
  
Leaning his head back on the seat, he let the breath of air out he had been holding in. He needed a vacation. Well, as soon as they caught whoever it was doing these murders he'd take a nice long vacation. Somewhere like Oklahoma. No one ever went there.  
  
As he took a moment to stretch before heading back to work, he felt something poking him in his jacket pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out a student ID card with sharp edges. He had forgotten he put it there. Ericsson would forgive him later for taking it like that. He always did.  
  
He studied the card for a moment, taking in the picture of the deceased girl upon it. She looked so alive in the photograph. Surprisingly she managed to look cute. He remembered overhearing horror stories from colleagues about how their kids' pictures turned out.  
  
The name on the card was so familiar, though. It was something about that high school she went to. What was she? Prom princess? Homecoming queen? No, it had something to do with Spanish.  
  
That was it: Fiesta Queen. He remembered reading about it in the paper a while back when flipping through. He knew the name Buffy Summers was familiar. 


End file.
